A Parasomniac's Guide to Sleepwalking
by SearchingforLethe
Summary: Reid thought nothing of his sleepwalking habits, summing them up to the result of a stressed mind. But that all changes when he awakes one morning, covered in blood and the prime suspect of a series of murders...
1. Chapter 1

**Title:**** A Parasomniac's Guide to Sleepwalking**

**Summary:**** When Spencer Reid woke up in his bathroom shower, he was confused. When he woke up in his kitchen, he was concerned. But when he woke up on his terrace, he was annoyed. There was absolutely no denying it: Spencer Reid was sleepwalking. But with his team working a trying and exhausting serial murder case, with no leads to speak of, he decides not to burden them with the knowledge of his late-night escapades. So he takes matters into his own hands and tries to help himself without worrying others. It isn't until he wakes up one morning, covered in blood and accused of unspeakable crimes that he begins to think he may have underestimated his problem...**

**Rating:**** T; violence, language and dark themes.**

**Disclaimer:****Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

_'People who say life is a bed of roses usually complain about sleeping in thorns.' -Anonymous_

xXx

Sleep.

It is an anomaly to some, a welcomed darkness to others, but a sanctuary to all. Whether someone turns to bed with anger in their blood, sorrow in their tears, or fear in their hearts, they are allowed a few precious hours in which none of it matters. None of the pain from reality can pervade their dreams and the softly whispered desires that voice themselves in the calm of sleep. A temple of safety and a monument to peace, sleep is when someone forgoes the stress and wear-and-tear of the world to submit to the only world that really matters- the world beyond our conscious reach.

But to a few troubled souls, the world is filled only with nightmares. Demons and specters lurking in the shadowy alcoves of the mind will make themselves known in the darkest hour of the personal world-turned-Hell. Half-assembled and crudely made monsters will creep upwards to walk behind closed eyelids, troubling the mind.

While most men, women, and children are aware of the creatures that haunt and plague them at nighttime, there is one man in particular who defies this norm. A man who is ignorant to the beast that breaks through at the sight of the moon and the submission to sleep; a man who knows not what he becomes at night.

A man who does not remember the monsters that lie in wait in his subconscious, because he is the monster.

And every night, this normally peaceful and innocent young man goes to bed, unawares that he becomes a beast who harms and murders young girls. And every morning, this normally kind and well-liked young man takes over once more, reading the incident of his crimes in the paper and never knowing he is the reason behind them.

Never knowing what he becomes when he slumbers.

Sleep.

It is an anomaly to some, a welcomed darkness to others, but a sanctuary to all...

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> The chapters will not be anywhere as short as this. I have a rule for myself that all chapters I write must hit at least six pages, prologues being the exception to this. As much as I wanted to make this longer, there was nothing I could add that wouldn't effect the time flow or style of it.

Review me your thoughts, opinions and suggestions, please.

**Chapter One (Preview)**

_STEP ONE: IDENTIFY THE PROBLEM_

She quickened her steps, trying not to seemed rushed as she swallowed what had surely been her heart, having leapt into her throat. Distracting herself from the sinking feeling in her gut and the hastening way her blood swam through her veins, she mapped out the directions to her house in her head. _'One left turn at the telephone pole, a right turn directly after the house with the cracked pavement...'_

The directions stopped short there, the three or so more turns she had left to think of being lost from her thought as a hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her forcibly against the attacker's chest. Her cries were muffled against the hand as her arms flailed out before her, attempting to twist around so as to use her cane as a weapon. But the man kicked it away, using so much force that it fell from her grasp and clattered onto the sidewalk.

Her heart seemed to skip several beats before skyrocketing, beating fiercely in her veins as her entire body seemed to tremble and pulsate from the rush of blood. One hand reached to claw at the clothed arm of her assailant while the other flew to the hands over her mouth, long and orange polished nails digging into the skin and attempting to pry the long fingers loose. But as her legs kicked out frantically, flying backwards and pounding against shins, she felt something press into the base of her spine, her body instantly stilling.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:****Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.**

**xXx**

**Chapter One**

_STEP ONE: IDENTIFY THE PROBLEM_

_What is sleepwalking, exactly? Medically, somnambulism, or sleepwalking, is classified as a parasomniac disorder. Disorders of this type are sleep disorders in which unusual movement, behavior, emotions, perceptions and dreams occur during sleep, between sleep stages, when falling asleep or when waking. _

_Specifically, sleepwalking is when the patient will arise during Stage Three and Four of NREM sleep, often times staying awake for the duration of it, while appearing awake and engaging in behaviors either as benign as sitting up and gesturing, or as dangerous as driving. _

_In order to make the diagnosis of sleepwalking without medical intervention, it is advised to journal anything that may seem altered or unusual after waking. Are things out of place? Is the television on when you turned it off? Are things broken? And most obviously, are you awaking in places other than where you fell asleep in? Some people will even set up a camera in their bedroom to record their late night movements..._

It was the feeling of cold water chilling his skin and seeping through his clothes that first woke Spencer Reid up, his eyes blinking open in confusion and taking in the scene surrounding him. His back was pressed into the slimy and slick with old water tiles that ran up the wall of his shower, his legs curled into his chest in order to fit his lithe frame within the cramped space. His pajamas- navy cotton pants and a matching night shirt- were soaked through, damp and freezing on his trembling body. Gooseflesh rose as small, white bumps over his skin, the water only irritating the flesh more as he shook almost violently.

He was so _cold!_

Deciding to save his questions until after he got up and into fresh, warm clothes, he pressed his palms down on the tiles and lifted himself up, hit feet slipping on the wet surface. As he stepped out of the shower stall, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso to preserve body heat, he turned back to look at the area, sectioned off by a frosted glass door, and frowned. Why had he awoken in his shower, of all places? He most certainly didn't fall asleep there.

The twitch of his jaw as his wet clothes chilled his skin even more made all the questions and answers suddenly seem less important as he entered the hall and nearly ran to his room, peeling the pajamas off faster than thought possible and jumping under the thick duvet. He sighed contentedly under the warm fabric, not even minding how uncomfortable wearing only his damp boxer shorts felt.

Warmth spreading through his body and calming the shiver, he finally began to assess the situation.

_'I came home at exactly nine twenty-seven. I read three books and then want to get ready for bed at ten forty-eight. I got into my bed and under my covers at exactly ten fifty-two. It takes me about fifteen minutes, on average, to fall asleep. So I fell asleep at approximately,'_ he paused, doing quick calculations in his head before thinking, _'Seven after eleven. I didn't get up for the bathroom at all, so how did I end up in the shower?'_ His face screwed up in the disorientation of the event only growing and becoming more so.

What had happened?

It was at that moment that his alarm clock decided to go off, a high pitched trill making him jump from surprise as the sound bounced around the walls. Grumbling unhappily at the disruption, he snaked his arm out from under the blanket and twisted his body to press the off button when he stopped in horror. The red, boxy numbers gleaming to him from the digital clock read fifteen after ten, hours after he was supposed to wake up at.

He sat up in the bed, getting warm no longer a priority. As he slid down to the floor and padded over to his closet, pulling out clothes and getting dressed, he cursed inwardly, realizing that the alarm must've gone off and, when he wasn't there to hear it or turn it off, automatically snoozed, repeating the process until now.

_'Hotch is going to be so mad,'_ he thought, replacing his boxer's and then slipping into tan dress pants, haphazardly wrapping a belt around his hips, missing a loop. An undershirt went next, followed by a simple button up dress shirt and a sweater vest. His hands quickly worked on a tie before darting out the door, stopping only to get a warm cup of coffee.

xXx

Reid sighed, pushing his hair out of the way and behind his ear as he laid his pen down and stretched, the mound of paperwork laying before him, completed. Thankfully, Hotch had been lenient on him, deciding that his otherwise tardy-less record had made up for this one incident. He did, however, spend a good twenty minutes chastising him and then another twenty minutes discussing the importance of being punctual.

He had, of course, asked Reid if he needed to go home, as the young genius was more often than not prompt to a fault and any deviation to this could be a sign of something wrong. And after the Hankel incident and Reid's struggle with dilaudid, Hotch had made a personal vow to not let anything go unacknowledged.

But Reid had waved it off, dismissing the question with a flippant shrug and half-truth. "I guess I was just a little out of it this morning," he had said, mentally adding _'out of my bed, out of my room...'_ After a moment of uncomfortable examination under those dark eyes, Hotch had sighed and let him go, telling the youngest agent to get started on his paperwork.

"Hey, Pretty Boy," Morgan said, grinning as he leaned against Reid's desk, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand as he greedily eyed the finished the paperwork. "Since your done with yours, how about helping me out?"

Reid shook his head. "Sorry, Morgan, but I have something I need to look up."

Cocking his head to the side, his grin slipping into a thoughtful frown, Morgan asked, "Oh yeah? What are you looking up, Kid?" He moved around the desk so that he stood directly behind Reid and bent over slightly to read the computer monitor, only to have the man reach out and cover his search with both hands, a scowl upon his face.

"It's kind of...private," he said, his eyes shifting to the side.

Morgan now broke out into a wide, amused grin, his eyes crinkling with delight as he rubbed his hands together conspiratorially. "Do you really think stuff like that is work appropriate?" he asked, his dark eyes lighting in mirth.

It took Reid a moment for his words to make sense, his eyes narrowed in confusion before they widened in shock, his pale cheeks painted a deep crimson. He shook his head fervently, curls flying about his head as he stuttered, "N-no! Not that private...stuff!" When the dark-skinned agent laughed at the poor wording, the blush only seemed to spread, his neck and ears now the same dark red color as his face.

"That's not what I meant!" he all but whispered, the embarrassment of the situation making his voice strained and high-pitched. Emily looked over to them, her pen hovering over her paperwork as she stopped to pay attention, a small, teasing smile growing on her lips.

"Morgan, what are you doing to him?" she asked, clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

Before Reid could stop him, Morgan said, "I'm trying to tell him that looking up pornographic material at work is simply not acceptable." At this point, Reid was doing a wonderful imitation of a cherry, his entire face as red as possible as he gaped openly, his eyes like saucers as they seemed to pop out from his head. Emily laughed- whether it was at Morgan's insinuation or Reid's expression was unknown, but Reid scoffed indignantly.

"Morgan! I'm not!" he defended, standing up now and hiding the screen from sight with his body. He pouted, his lower lip jutting forward as he looked pleadingly at his friend, the red color of his face bordering on dangerous.

"Relax, man. I'm just joking," Morgan said, his grin faltering when he noticed just how flustered Reid had become. Reid still continued to scowl, grumbling incoherently as he fell back down in his chair, his hands covering the search engine from view. After a moment, Morgan sighed and asked, "You really don't want me to know, do you?"

Reid shrugged, turning slightly to look back at his friend though finding it difficult as he still attempted to cover the screen. "It's nothing bad, really. Just something I'm a little self-conscious about," he said vaguely, hoping Morgan believed him and would leave him alone. Dark eyes looked wearily at him, no longer happy and excited as he seemed to grow serious. Reid knew what he was thinking, knew that at that moment, Morgan was recalling Reid's behavior from when he was using drugs and comparing it to his behavior now, trying to find similarities. But when none could be found, he sighed and smiled, relieved, before turning around and walking back to his desk.

"You get off easy this time, Pretty Boy," he called over his shoulder, chuckling as Emily, having interpreted it in a sexual way from the previous conversation, started laughing loudly, covering her mouth to quiet the noise. Reid huffed, his face turning pink once more after just settling back to its normal color, removed his hands and hit enter, results for his search lining up in the page.

After a moment, he clicked the first link, entitled _A Parasomniac's Guide to Sleepwalking_.

xXx

Rebecca Pierce pulled the lapels of her jean jacket up further around her neck, the breeze snipping and biting at her exposed skin. Her mother was right- she should have worn a scarf. And perhaps she would have, had her mother not suggested it. It wasn't necessarily that she was a rebellious girl- by no means was Becky the type of sixteen-year old girl that went out of her way to ignore her parents' words. At least, not in the traditional sense. No, the problem was that Becky simply didn't like being coddled by her overprotective parents. The parents who, though loving, had figuratively wrapped her in bubble wrap for the better part of her life, could be overbearing, and a small act such as not wearing a scarf despite being told to made her feel so independent.

And independence was not something she had felt since her accident eleven years ago.

Tapping the tip of her cane out in front of her, her feet moving behind it as she made sure her path was clear, she huffed out a breath of air that she imagined formed a cloud of vapor in front of her lips. She wasn't sure what time it was, as she had left the party rather abruptly and without thinking to ask someone for it, but she could tell it was late at night. The below average chill, the lack of cars and life, and the constant chirping of grasshoppers were the biggest indicators, though she really didn't think she had been at Vanessa's house long enough for it to have gotten so late.

_'I hope I haven't passed my curfew,'_ she thought, biting her lip nervously as she quickened her pace a bit. In retrospect, she probably should have enlisted one of her friends to drive her home instead of opting to walk. One of her friends who wasn't at the party, that is, as the ones who were there were all decidedly drunk. But she hadn't, and she most certainly would not call her parents. They would not only yell and ground her, but they would surely make a jab at just how helpless she was because of her handicap.

She wasn't though, and she was getting sick of them saying she was.

Besides, she knew the route from Vanessa's house to her own better than any other.

It was after she had taken a turn on Mockingbird Lane- her neighborhood having an affinity to naming it's streets after birds- that she heard it. Slow and steady footsteps, shallow and heavy breathing. Having lived with her blindness for eleven years, she had not only learned how to hear things that to anyone else would be too quiet, but to determine how close they were to her. And whoever it was who owned the stalking feet and uncontrolled breathing was close. Very close.

She quickened her steps, trying not to seemed rushed as she swallowed what had surely been her heart, having leapt into her throat. Distracting herself from the sinking feeling in her gut and the hastening way her blood swam through her veins, she mapped out the directions to her house in her head. _'One left turn at the telephone pole, a right turn directly after the house with the cracked pavement...'_

The directions stopped short there, the three or so more turns she had left to think of being lost from her thought as a hand clamped over her mouth, pulling her forcibly against the attacker's chest. Her cries were muffled against the hand as her arms flailed out before her, attempting to twist around so as to use her cane as a weapon. But the man kicked it away, using so much force that it fell from her grasp and clattered onto the sidewalk.

Her heart seemed to skip several beats before skyrocketing, beating fiercely in her veins as her entire body seemed to tremble and pulsate from the rush of blood. One hand reached to claw at the clothed arm of her assailant while the other flew to the hands over her mouth, long and orange polished nails digging into the skin and attempting to pry the long fingers loose. But as her legs kicked out frantically, flying backwards and pounding against shins, she felt something press into the base of her spine, her body instantly stilling.

"Struggle and I shoot," the man warned, his voice low and concealed as he attempted to make it sound deeper than was natural.

Tears fell down her cheeks as she let her body slump in his grasp, the gun being pushed deeper against her skin painfully. She was trapped, trapped at gun point.

"Do everything I say, as I say it, or else," he added, rolling the chamber of the gun and startling her with the sounds of it clicking into place, bullets ready and waiting to rip through her. With no other option, she nodded her consent to the agreement, her hands trembling as they still remained over his appendage, nails digging into skin. "Good. Now, follow me to my car. Make any move to scream or struggle and I will kill you."

He let his hand lip from her mouth, wrapping his fingers around her elbow and yanking her back, the gun never leaving its place. He dragged her several yards before finally approaching his vehicle and, after restraining her hands behind her back with metal cuffs, shoved her into the backseat.

Her lip trembled as her teeth tore into the inside of her cheeks, tasting metal as she struggled against every instinct she had that told her to scream. Her heart was still thumping wildly in her chest, pounding against her ribcage as though to escape the confines of bone and muscle. She could hear her own blood as it pounded against the walls of her veins, tears staining her cheeks and making them tacky. She felt the car shift as weight was added, a soft sob escaping her lips as the key was turned in the ignition and the engine roared to life.

It was nearly an hour and a half later when the car came to a stop and she was pulled brutally out of her seat, gasping as the fingers dug around her forearm and the cold barrel of the gun pressed into her temple. "Get out," he demanded, the chill of the gun acting as a warning. She swallowed and did as she was told, shakily following him and, worst of all, trusting him as she stumbled in the dark.

But her world was always dark.

xXx

It was four in the morning when Reid woke up, his entire body stiff and sore. He was lying on tile again, but this time, he was thankful to find that it was dry, meaning he must've at least kept himself out of the shower.

Groaning softly, he rolled onto his side and peeked his eyes open, staring directly under his cabinets. His kitchen cabinets. Without even rising, he covered his face with his hands and moaned again, grimacing with the pain that shot through his body. He hurt so much.

After several minutes, he slowly sat up, gasping as his muscles strained with the action. When he finally managed to stand, his joints creaking, he looked around him in the darkness, swallowing slightly as he leaned into the wall, groping frantically for the light switch. It was too dark. His fingers finding the dial, he sighed audibly in relief as he pushed it up, a warm glow showering over the small, galley style kitchen.

_'The shower, the kitchen...where will I wake up next?' _he thought bitterly, rubbing his face before examining the counters. His eyes widened when he saw a cutting board out, a tomato sitting on it's wooden surface and with a jagged and uneven cut running through it. A large knife- too large for a tomato- sat beside it, the handle hanging precariously over the edge.

He cocked his head to the side and reached out, grabbing the knife and studying it as though it had appeared there by magic instead of a product of his late-night excursions. Raising one brow as the other fell low in confusion, he placed the knife and cutting board in the sink before looking at the tomato and throwing it into his fridge, his mind abuzz with thought despite having only recently woke up.

_'I'm cooking for myself now?'_ he wondered, shaking his head as he walked through his apartment, straightening shelves and objects that seemed to have fallen over during the night. While he wasn't necessarily a neat freak, his stuff- particularly books- often being left around when a random thought or impulse motivated him to do something else, as was common for the spastic doctor, he was by no means a slob or someone who simply let things fall and lay wherever they landed. Clearly, his subconsciousness would not cooperate with his standards of living.

When everything was back in its place, he rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead before grabbing his coat and wallet, deciding a video camera from Wal-Mart would not go remiss.

xXx

The cases that Hotch liked the most were the local ones, because they allowed him to at least spare a couple minutes to see Jack everyday, which was more than what could be said about other cases. However, other than that, there was nothing redeemable about having to get up early, go to bed late, and delve into the mind of sick and twisted criminals, local or otherwise. If it weren't for the feeling of making a difference and protecting the thousands of potential victims from locking away that one UnSub, he was sure he would not have lasted long in the field. But knowing that, because of him and his team, victims and the families of victims could rest easy, the closure of justice being served was enough to appease their restless and mourning spirits.

Walking around the boardroom, his coffee acting as a catalyst to life at the moment, he patiently waited for the rest of his team to arrive, throwing a glance to the clock. It was about a quarter after five- hours before they would have come in on any other day. This job could really be so tiring...

"Hey Hotch, sorry, I had to go get the case file," JJ said as she walked in through the door, her hair thrown up into a loose ponytail as she placed the manilla envelope onto the table and took a generous sip of her coffee.

It didn't take long after she got in for the rest to show up- Emily next, Rossi after, and Morgan and Garcia coming in together, each agent looking more ragged and tired than the next. After a quick glance over the exhausted and heavy-lidded agents, Hotch realized that one member of their team had yet to arrive- Spencer Reid. _'Odd,'_ Hotch thought, frowning slightly. Reid was normally the first one in attendance. But then again, he had been late the previous day. Was he feeling alright? To be late once was an odd occurrence, but twice? And within twenty-four hours?

Hotch clenched his jaw, looking out at the rest of his team as they sat around the table, the empty seat ignored to their tired eyes. Would they know if anything was wrong with the young agent? While they worked close together and had a stronger bond than most co-workers, Hotch rarely saw any of the others if they weren't actively working a case. He spent most of the day in his office, as did Rossi, JJ and Garcia, while the other three resided in the bullpen. Perhaps Morgan would know?

Opening his mouth to inquire about Reid's well-being, he was interrupted by the door opening. The man in question stumbled through, his head ducked as long curls fell into his flushed face, his cheeks a bright pink on pale white. A Wal-Mart bag was tucked under his arm, being shifted around as he moved to the spare chair, mumbling apologies.

Brows furrowed as the question Hotch was going to ask was replaced by another one. "You were shopping at Wal-Mart? At five in the morning?" He sounded incredulous, his normally flat voice rising with the query. A faint chuckle wafted through the air from Morgan's seat, but Reid simply shrugged.

"I couldn't sleep and there was something I needed," he mumbled.

Before the poor young genius could have even seen it coming, the smirking and dark-skinned agent reached out, snatching the bag that lay beside his chair and pulling it into his lap.

"Hey!" Reid yelled, whipping around and making several grabbing motions for his bag, only to have Morgan twist in his seat and block his hand with his shoulder.

"Now, now, Pretty Boy- what was so important that you had to..." he stopped, his eyes falling on the packaging of the video camera as his words got caught in his throat. And as much as the Unit Chief hated to admit it, he leaned forward, trying to see the purchase as his head cocked to the side. What _had _been so important that he had to run to the super store at such an hour? He couldn't help but let his curiosity got the best of him, especially when Morgan's lip rose and parted into a larger smile, his pure white teeth sparkling brilliantly as he laughed.

Turning back to Reid, whose face had turned so red it was a wonder there was any blood left in his body, he chuckled and said, "First, you're looking up pornography at work, and now you're buying a video camera? Are we thinking of getting a little side job?" If there had been blood in any other part of his body, it was all gone now, swimming up to the veins in his face as he blushed a furious shade of dark red.

"N-no!" he stammered, grabbing the video camera and shoving it under his chair as he frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping forward.

"Morgan, stop giving him a hard time," Emily said, her voice tinged with amusement and her lips wide.

As Morgan started to respond- surely with a more vulgar comment than she intended- Hotch cleared his throat. "The case, everybody?" he said in a scolding tone, causing the team to turn to their boss apologetically as they settled down. After a moment, Hotch nodded and raised his hand to JJ as he sat down, signaling for the liaison to start the debriefing.

"Between the approximate hours of twelve and one this morning, Rebecca Pierce," she began, pressing a button so a projected image of the young girl in question came up, her slim yet long face curtained by dark auburn hair as dark tinted sunglasses sat on her nose. "A sixteen-year old girl, was kidnapped while she was walking home from a party in the DC area."

"Were there any other victims?" Rossi asked, his brows sinking into the middle and his skin crinkling.

JJ shook her head, her blonde locks whipping around her face. "No, Rebecca was the only one."

"Then why are we getting involved in the case?" Morgan questioned, crossing his arms over his broad chest and tilting his head to the side.

"Because this was left at the crime scene," JJ said, pressing the button and watching the large screen behind her. The image of Rebecca was pushed to the back as two pictures leapt in front of it, each taking up an equal amount of the monitor. One photograph was of a metal cane laying on the curb, the last several inches of it disconnected from where the jointed part of it broke on the cement. The other photograph was of a simple security envelope, the folded tab side up and with the words _'Police'_ scrawled over the top.

"The walking cane...she was blind?" Rossi asked, his eyebrows raising and his jaw dropping slightly.

JJ nodded. "Yes, her parents told the police that she became blind when she was five years old, during a car accident in which her corneas were scratched." Turning back to the screen, she clicked the button and watched as the the cane picture went into the background and the envelope took full screen. "The letter, which was addressed to the police, contains a riddle." Another click of the button later and the picture was replaced by a photograph of the letter, the words typed and large on the printed page:

_'I don't think we did go blind, but are blind.  
>Blind but seeing.<br>Blind people who can see, but cannot see.'_

_Can you see, officers?_

Reid's eyes widened as he mouthed the words, his lips twitching with thought. "Jose Saramago," he muttered to himself, unknowingly drawing the attention of the six other members of his team.

"What was that, Reid?" Hotch asked.

Shaking his head and staring up at his boss as though noticing him for the first time that night, Reid cleared his throat and said, louder, "It's a quote by Jose Saramago. It's from his book _Blindness_." At the curious looks, he added, "It's about a man who suddenly goes blind for no reason, except instead of seeing everything as blackness, he sees it as bright white, and is offered a ride home from someone who then steals his car. Eventually, the blindness becomes an epidemic and more and more people start going blind, with everyone being quarantined in deplorable conditions. It hits everyone in the country, except the doctor's wife, and she helps to care for some people, even though everything- the governing system, the morale- is failing. At the end, the blindness lifts and everyone is able to see again."

Hotch nodded slowly, letting the information sink in as he looked up at the image hovering over them, the dark words contrasting against the pure white paper, stark and almost painful to stare at with such tired eyes.

"What do you think he means by _'Can you see, officers?'_" he hears Emily ask. But before he could even contemplate a response, Reid has already begun a long-winded explanation.

"The whole premise of the novel was that the strong will take advantage of the weak, as the crime rates increased drastically. It has also been considered a symbol for people being unable to see the true nature of humanity until actually being able to see has been taking out of the equation. Essentially, the period of blindness allowed the world to see things and people as they were, now that those who still could see had an advantage over those who didn't," the genius said, his voice flat as he continued to stare at the photograph, the thick and black words burning into his brain.

Morgan leaned forward. "So, is he trying to say that the police are ignorant to something that's going on?" he asked.

"Or maybe it's a hint to look outside of what is expected, that what may lead us to solve this case is not something that we would initially see or think of," Rossi theorized, his teeth chewing absentmindedly on the inside of his mouth.

Hotch nodded, agreeing with both suggestions. He watched as JJ pressed the button and the picture of Rebecca Pierce showed up again, the sunglasses over her eyes now making more sense. Sighing, he turned to his team and said, "Rossi and I will go to the scene of abduction. JJ, Emily," he said, looking at each woman in turn before continuing, "Find information about this party she went to and try to speak to as many of the attendant's as possible. Find out if anyone helped her home or if she was intoxicated at all. Reid, Morgan, stay back and get a head start on that profile, and Garcia, I want you to look into that book Reid was talking about. Maybe this is an obsessional crime with the novel as the fixation, in which case it will come up more often." The solemn-faced agent looked around at the sea of nods in response to his directions, his hands slipping into his pockets as he nodded once and curtly before leaving the room, Rossi following behind him.

The cases Hotch hated the most were the local ones, because he always saw his son in every victim they came across...

**xXx**

**Author's Note:** So, what do you guys think? Every time you review, a tired Reid gets a cup of coffee, so hit that review button and give energy to an awkward genius today! Let me know your thoughts, opinions and suggestions.

**Chapter Two (Preview)**

"Stop it!" Rebecca tried to say through the dirty rag wrapped around her mouth, only to find her voice too muffled. Her pleas were quiet and sounded like garbled sobs as tears smeared her face, her cheeks hot and blotchy. Metal cuffs around her wrists kept her tightly held to something she was unable to truly examine, but believed to be a think metal pipe. Her knees scuffed against the floor and she shivered, the cold and dampness of...wherever she was wracking on her body and wearing her down. She had to be coming down with a cold, or pneumonia, not as if that were on the forefront of her mind.

What was on the forefront of her mind however was the man she could feel pressing his full weight into her, his knee slipping between her thighs to separate them. Her tears got caught in her throat as she pulled against the cuffs, trying once more to voice her protests.

But the gag stopped her once more.

"No one can hear you," the man said, his voice disguised as it had been when he first abducted her and she felt herself recoil with the words. To hear him speak her fears aloud was unbearable, to know that she really was silenced to the world around her made her feel even more vulnerable than she could ever remember.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:****Criminal Minds and all its associated characters are property to CBS and no profit is being made from this story.**

**Author's Note:** -Hands Reid six cups of coffee- That should keep him awake for awhile!

**Warning: **Allusions to sexual assault, non-descriptive.

**xXx**

**Chapter Two**

_'You can't wake a person who is pretending to be asleep.' -Anonymous_

It was almost wrong for Reid to garner so much joy and comfort from the chair surrounding the circular table, the thin cushion molding slightly to fit his form as he leaned back and resisted the urge to close his eyes. He was so very tired. Or perhaps exhausted was a better word to use, as tired implied that he was only in need of rest to relax his system, and he was pretty sure that he needed more than just a rest. His body hung limp and lethargic on the seat, his head lulling to the side with the seemingly increase to its weight. His eyelids waged war on gravity, and it took far too much effort to simply keep his eyes open, let alone focusing.

And his thoughts! While normally somewhat scatterbrained and with the habit of jumping from one topic to the next- with a factoid often the linking factor- there was still some semblance of order to his mind. But now, it was as if his brain had completely given way to entropy. The sentences and running commentary in his head seemed to trail off, unfinished and fuzzy as he hazily turned to another thought. It was so disconnected, so disjointed, that he found himself suddenly realizing five minutes later that he had never completed the idea that had popped up in his train of thoughts.

He was unused to this bedlam- his mind apparently content with the anarchy it afforded the young genius- and he found himself cursing under his breath as he understood what the problem was. The damn sleepwalking.

Analytical in nature, Reid was the type of person to rationalize everything. While this habit had made watching the popularized ghost hunting shows impossible, as he always found himself explaining the supposed paranormal activity with a much more sound and reasonable causation, it had helped him in more ways than it hindered him. One of those ways being not to jump to conclusions.

He understood the concept of sleepwalking, had read a book on it once while he waited for his mother to look for a specific translation of _Le Morte D'Arthur, _but had never truly had any incentive to study the occurrence. Now, of course, that all had changed.

Stress, was the obvious factor, he believed, thoroughly convinced his overtaxed mind had finally found an outlet for all the emotional baggage that had weighed it down. Still, as common as sleepwalking was, and as innocent and harmless as the causing factor seemed to be, he was unnerved by the thought of walking about at night, unaware and without control of his body- something he was supposed to have control of, without a doubt.

And since it seemed he had taken to preparing meals for himself during these little escapades, the worry only grew.

_'What if I cut myself by accident? Or try to cook with the stove or oven and end up burning the apartment down?'_ he thought, willing his eyes to open as he gratefully accepted Morgan's proffered cup of coffee.

But as he brought the mug to his lips, lifting it by the handle so as to consume the much needed liquid, he knew that coffee meant one thing: _now it's time to get down to work._

He groaned inwardly, too tired and distracted to even remotely focus on a profile. Hotch might as well have given this job to Morgan's dog, Clooney, as he was sure to get more help from the canine than the genius in this state.

_'The next time I have nothing to do, I'm going to go back to that website and read the next chapter. See if there are any treatments,'_ he vowed, as he reached out and pulled the folder of Pierce's disappearance records to sit in front of him. Unfortunately, his research the other day had been short lived, stopped unceremoniously by a sudden conference call that left him barely any time to write the web address down.

"Alright, so what do we got to work with?" Morgan asked no one in particular as he began skimming through the hard copy of the victim report.

And, even though Reid knew better, knew it was a rhetorical question, he couldn't stop himself from saying, "Not much. Normally, we're called in after a body's found at least, if not a couple. And, as morbid as it seems, without a body- living or otherwise- we can't know for sure exactly what his intentions are for Pierce. We're pretty much playing a guessing game, along with being forced to make a potentially incomplete or inaccurate profile."

Morgan looked up at this, his brows raised in surprise as his mouth slipped into a sober frown. He hated to admit it, but the younger agent was right. While so much of a profile was based off of victimology, the same amount of it was also based off of the MO. And so far, the MO was too inconclusive to really work with.

The dark man sighed, rubbing a hand over his head as he rose from his seat and made his way to the dry-erase board. As he uncapped a marker, he said, "Let's make a list of everything we have so far." In quick, spiky writing, he wrote _'Victimology'_ on the board, and then _'MO'_ beside it.

"Disability," Reid said, taking a generous gulp from his coffee. "He has a clear advantage."

Nodding, Morgan wrote the words '_disability'_ and _'disadvantage'_ underneath the victimology heading.

And so it continued, Morgan and Reid alternately naming observations and facts about the abduction to be named under a category. It went on for ten minutes, nearly, before the marker was replaced on the lip of the board and the older man stepped back, as though admiring a piece of art from a distance. The lists now read:

_Victimology  
><span>Disability  
>Disadvantage<br>White, female, teen  
>High-risk<br>Small stature  
>Affluent family<em>

And:

_MO  
>Clear advantage<br>Disorganized- high-risk location of abduction  
>Struggle<em>

Written down, it seemed even worse. They had so little to go with, and this fact became glaringly obvious with the emptiness of the board before them, only a small space designated to the information. And, if they were being honest with themselves, they didn't really need as much space as Morgan had ended up using.

It did at least make it easier to draw some conclusions, however incomplete they may seem.

"He has some sort of disadvantage himself," Morgan said, his arms folded over his chest as he leaned against the table, his eyes still following the lines on the board.

Reid nodded. "He either feels incompetent about his physical stature, or has a lasting injury that makes abducting healthier girls more difficult."

Pursing his lips, the other man tore his eyes away from the words and looked at his colleague, his brows furrowed in thought. "What if he has a deformity of some kind? Maybe Pierce wasn't picked up because she seemed like an easy target, but because she was disabled in just the right way? He might feel self-conscious about the way he looks, so he makes sure his victims don't hold the power of knowing his weakness over him."

It seemed like a solid theory, one that was entirely plausible. But the only problem was that, without other victims, who's to say that blindness was the desired handicap, or just the current one?

"So, the profile can either go three ways," Reid said, reluctantly lifting himself up from his chair and adding to the board three more categories: _'Deformity', 'Disability', _and _'Lacking in Physical Dominance'._

After a second of tapping his chin with the end of the marker, he said, "All three profiles have one thing in common- they're power seekers. They feel subordinate in life because either one of these factors and therefore need to be in control over something." In penmanship large enough that scrawled under all three categories, he wrote _'Power-seeking'._

"Dead end job, or collecting disability, with little to no disposable income. Probably drives an older car because he can't afford a new one," Morgan rattled off, watching as Reid frantically wrote the suggestions under the appropriate categories.

Looking at the list, his forefinger tapping thoughtfully against his chin, Reid added, "If power is the goal, and considering the age and sex of the victim in regards to statistics, let's assume there's a sexual aspect involved as well." He hated to assume, but unfortunately, it was necessary. They needed a jumping off point, and without insinuating a couple of facets, they would be left only at a standstill.

Thankfully, Morgan seemed to agree, as he said nothing about the irresponsibility of assuming and only continued to expand on the idea. "With the profile of a typical sexual power-seeker, we can even say that he's a white male in his mid twenties to thirties. He'd be more of a loner. Socially awkward and uncomfortable, probably because of perceived judgments based off of either of the three physical profiles."

Reid nodded, sighing as he hoped that what they had just come up with was at least remotely accurate, while simultaneously hoping for the opposite. _'If the profile is correct, we can find this guy. And if the profile is correct, than Rebecca Pierce will never be the same again,' _he thought, absentmindedly adding to himself, _'If she survives.'_

"You alright man?" Morgan asked, a large hand clamping down on the smaller man's slender shoulder.

Jumping at the contact, Reid hastily nodded, his curls bouncing off his head as he cleared his throat nervously. "Yeah, just not feeling too well lately is all," he said dismissively, a hand waving the question off. A lie, and an obvious one at that. Dark circles puffed around his eyes, indicative of sleepless nights, and shallow cheeks, paler than usual, attested to that. But despite how transparent his excuse, and despite speaking to a profiler, Reid had no desire to tell the truth.

Sleepwalking, he knew, wasn't a big or strange phenomena by any means. In fact, it was nearly as common as nightmares in children. There was no reason to let Morgan in on his problem; It was easily taken care of and the agent would only make it larger than it was. Besides, it was simply a matter of privacy and keeping to one's self.

Dark eyes studied him intensely, searching for the truth. It was uncomfortable, to be examined so carefully, and Reid found himself repositioning several times as he suddenly found the dirt beneath his fingernails utterly fascinating.

"Pretty Boy," Morgan said through a sigh, his head tilting as he frowned.

"Don't worry about it, Morgan. Really. I'm just not sleeping all too well, like I said before," he answered, interrupting his friend before he could begin a long-winded pep talk. Not a lie, not technically. Just...not specific.

Reluctantly, the dark man let the issue go, sighing in defeat as he said, "You know we're here for you if you need anything, right?"

Reid nodded emphatically, a small smile ghosting over his features. "Yes, I do."

Morgan grinned, yet it did nothing to conceal the unease that lingered behind his dark eyes. As far as he could see, the younger man's behavior now was different than from his brief battle with drugs, which had allowed him to breathe easier. But still, if drugs weren't the problem, than what was?

xXx

Hot tears left tacky traces on Rebecca's fevered cheeks, flushed and blotchy from having spent hours crying- sometimes silently, sometimes with audible whines and sobs. But now she sat in an episode of quiet, her throat constricting on tears and fright, the tissue walls of the organ raw from a recent bout of screaming for help even though her shouts were nothing more than muffled pleas. Bloody knuckles and fingertips- the substance staining her appendages long since dry and a dark, muddy color- were curled into a loose fist, cold cuffs holding her wrists in place.

She had tried to pry her hands apart from wherever they were locked to, only to stop when her bruised wrists throbbed in pain and she came to the terrifying conclusion that she could not budge whatever it was that held her still. Spreading her fingers and placing them gently down on the surface the cuffs were wrapped around, she winced at the chill of metal the sat beneath her skin, her fingers pulling back at the contact. A little over an hour before, she had examined the object for the first time, finding it to be circular and standing in a vertical orientation from floor to ceiling. It felt to be about ten inches in diameter, and she was forced into a position that had her almost hugging it. But at the time she first studied it, the blood and cuts that had resulted hours before from struggling had yet to heal, and as a result, she could not examine the material of it.

But now that she knew it to be metal, she considered the possibility of being attached to a pipe.

_'If I'm cuffed to a pipe,'_ she thought, licking her bloody lips and sitting up straighter, _'Than I'm probably in a basement.'_ Having been blind for most of her life, Rebecca had learned ways to decipher her location without seeing. Certain markers (such as tiles, pipes, carpeting) could be used to figure out where she might be, and of what purpose the room served. And the constant breeze that seemed to float around the room, making her lithe form shiver drastically, combined with the damp floor and walls only seemed to support the basement idea.

But little use knowing she was in a basement did when she didn't know where the room itself was located in the first place.

Sniffling, she settled back against the wall, her eyes squeezing shut as more tears slipped out. What had she done to deserve this? Hadn't she been through enough in her short life as it was? Before she was even aware she was doing it, she was shouting, filling the cold and secluded room with quiet yells and roars of anger. Her feet rose and fell to the floor in quick, uneven beats, stomping madly in a near childlike tantrum. She continued to do so, the heels pounding painfully and forcibly against the cement floor until they pulsed with agony, blood seeping through the skin.

The soles of her feet slipped along the floor, now slick with blood, as she hunched over, her shoulders shaking with the ferocity of her cries.

Why? Why her? Why had this happened?

Unbidden, her mind began recalling her friends, her family, thinking back to the last things she had said to them. _'I said _'see you later'_ to Beth, I said _'thank you, Daddy' _to Dad, and I,'_ she paused, clenching her jaw as another sob bubbled to the surface. _'I didn't even say good-bye to Mom!'_

If she could, she would have wrapped her arms around her knees, curling into herself as she cried into her arms. But being that her hands were restrained, she was unable to, and so instead she rested her forehead against the metal pipe, too exhausted and pained to care about the cold now burning along her skin.

She was going to die.

She knew she was, the man had said that to her before he left. After he had beaten her and taken her innocence, he had promised she would die at his hands. All the while in his fake, deepened voice.

Three visits.

He would visit her three times before he killed her.

_'And he's already visit me once,'_ she thought, recalling those few yet pained filled hours, occurring directly after he kidnapped her. She wasn't sure how long he had been gone for, but she had assumed hours had passed. _'He must be working,'_ she added mentally, hoping he wouldn't come back. That the next person to step through that door would be someone rescuing her, a police officer, a white knight- she didn't care who it who offered help, just so long as it was offered.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled behind the layers of cloth acting as a gag, not sure exactly who she was offering her apology to.

xXx

Reid opened the door into his apartment complex, yawning wildly as he rubbed his eyes, his keys clutched in his fist with the specific one to his flat poking out from between his index and middle finger. He was so tired. And after spending an entire day working a dead-end case, his exhaustion levels had only spiked.

He stepped into the elevator, nodding his greeting to the wife of some other FBI agent as she stepped out, purse and coat in hand. Agents and their relatives were the only occupants of his apartment complex, as all the flats were available only to those working in Quantico. He didn't mind it- he often kept to himself and even so, the neighbors were kind enough. He had once suggested Hotch to move into the complex, as many of the relatives or spouses of other agents were more than happy to babysit at the last minute, knowing full well the commitment the job required. But his boss had rejected, saying he did not feel it was appropriate to live in such close quarters to his job.

The doors to the elevator opened, and Reid found himself looking at two of his neighbors, Robert Colin and Glen MacDonald. Blinking in surprise, he managed a tired smile. "Hey," he said, bouncing on his feet anxiously. Though both men were friendly and nice to talk to, he was positive that if he didn't go to sleep soon he would simply pass out wherever he stood.

Robert smiled wide, his cheeks dimpling as he said, "Hey, Reid! Coming back from Quantico just now?" He stepped aside, letting the young genius join them in the hall as he linked his hands behind his back, the muscles visible beneath his loose tee shirt stretching and pulling with the action.

Reid nodded. "Yeah, we got a new case."

"You're working the same case as us, aren't you?" Glenn asked quietly, tilting his head to the side.

He shrugged in response.

"The Pierce case? I talked to Hotch today, actually," Robert said. "He wanted us to look for any prints or DNA on the cane found and note found at the scene and we're heading in now to begin processing them now that they've been cleared."

Reid rose a brow. "Now? But it's so late."

Robert laughed deeply, bright teeth sparkling as he pushed his sandy brown hair aside. "Late? It's only nine," he answered, grinning despite the way the profiler's face flushed a brilliant shade of red.

"Long day," Reid mumbled in answer, ducking his head as he tried to brush past, letting his curtain of brown curls shield him from view. Glenn stepped aside easily, waving and saying a quiet goodbye as Robert shrugged and pulled him into the elevator, disappearing from the hall just as Reid reached his door.

Once inside and locking the door behind him, he made his way to his room, turning on the lights as he went. He entered his destination, letting the Wal-Mart bag and video camera slip down to the floor. Yawning loudly, a hand hovering uselessly over his mouth, he turned up the dimmer, lighting the room in a bright glow before shuffling down to sit beside the camera.

_'And now you're buying a video camera? Are we thinking of getting a little side job?'_ Morgan's words came to back to him as he pulled the box out, his face flushing feverishly. The man could really poke at his nerves, and even worse, he seemed to enjoy doing it.

Shaking his head, the bright crimson color still in place, he began to open the package, only to have to wrestle with the box to pull out the styro-foam covering between him and the camera. He cringed at the sound of his nails scraping against the foam several times before he managed to get everything apart, the camera and accompanying tripod laid out before him.

He reached out for the instructional disc, debating on whether or not to actually watch it. _'I really should,'_ he thought, fearful of messing something up or making a foolish mistake that would set his studies back a night. It took only one glance at the bedside clock, which seemed to taunt him with the bold, red letters, for him to realize he was too tired to sit through a twenty minute video.

_'I have a Ph.D. in chemistry, mathematics, and engineering,'_ he thought, placing the disc and it's cardboard case down as he replaced it with the device. _'I think I can figure out how to work a simple camera.'_

One thing Reid didn't take into consideration, however, was how electronics simply would not cooperate with him. He was smart enough to figure them out, but nearly every time he tried the practical usage of his knowledge, it suddenly wasn't enough. _'If Garcia were here, she'd be having a field day,'_ he angrily thought, knowing that the tech analyst would surely find his ineptitude hysterical. But finally, he succeeded in figuring out how to work the object, setting it up in the corner of his room on the tripod.

Yawning, he pressed the record button and made his way over to the bed, uncaring about sleeping in his clothes- he was just so exhausted! He used the heel of his opposite feet to kick of his shoes and sleepily undid his tie and vest before climbing under the covers.

He was asleep within moments.

xXx

The sound of the heavy door creaking open startled Rebecca, causing her to lurch from her position on the floor and move herself further into the corner, a whimper escaping her throat. She had nodded off at some point, though she wasn't too sure on how she managed to find the serenity necessary for sleep. But any and all of the peace she had some how collected from those few hours of blissful slumbering had vanished in an instant, her heartbeat racing wildly and in time with the resonating sound of the man walking towards her.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said gruffly, mockingly, in that same fake voice. After a moment of silence in which only the sound of the young girl's labored breathing could be heard, he added, "Or rather, good night, as it's rather late."

Two more steps came after, the sounds ricocheting off the walls, and he was now in front of her, long and bony fingers tracing lazy circles onto her knee. She flinched at the contact, her muscles immediately constricting as she attempted to push herself even further into the corner.

Her protests were silenced behind the makeshift gag as he trailed his hands further up her thigh, slowly and cautiously, as though unsure at first. But when they slipped inward, snaking along the soft skin of the inner section, she reeled with anger and sudden fight.

"Stop it!" Rebecca tried to say through the dirty rag wrapped around her mouth, only to find her voice too muffled. Her pleas were quiet and sounded like garbled sobs as tears smeared her face, her cheeks hot and blotchy. Metal cuffs around her wrists kept her tightly held to something she was unable to truly examine, but believed to be a thick metal pipe. Her knees scuffed against the floor and she shivered, the cold and dampness of...wherever she was wracking on her body and wearing her down. She had to be coming down with a cold, or pneumonia, not as if that were on the forefront of her mind.

What was on the forefront of her mind however was the man she could feel pressing his full weight into her, his knee slipping between her thighs to separate them. Her tears got caught in her throat as she pulled against the cuffs, trying once more to voice her protests.

But the gag stopped her once more.

"No one can hear you," the man said, his voice disguised as it had been when he first abducted her and she felt herself recoil with the words. To hear him speak her fears aloud was unbearable, to know that she really was silenced to the world around her made her feel even more vulnerable than she could ever remember.

xXx

**Author's Note:** I am so sorry the update took so long! Things have just been pretty hectic- between babysitting, interviews, birthday celebrations, being sick as a dog, AND preparing for a ten day trip to Florida, I've been having very little time to write, unfortunately. But hopefully, all of that will be remedied soon. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, subscribed and favorited this story. It is much appreciated! Please let me know your thoughts!

**Chapter Three (Preview)**

He attempted to ignore the look of concern that Hotch was giving him at the moment, the dark eyes searching the young man before him as though he possessed the ability to read minds. But the look was too burning- too prominent a sensation for it to so offhandedly be forgotten about. Bristling with annoyance, no doubt tempered by the lack of proper sleep in a near week, he scoffed and swiveled around to face his superior, hazel eyes livid.

"I'm fine, Hotch, really! And I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to check in on me all the time," he snapped, knowing before he even finished just how uncharacteristic his attitude was. But he was really getting very agitated by the looks everyone was sending- he was well aware of the bags under his eyes, there was no need to act as though he was ignorant to his current.

It wasn't until Hotch narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips that he realized he had made a mistake. Swallowing nervously, he attempted to backtrack, thinking of apologies that could work, when JJ swooped into the room, blonde hair flowing behind her as she stood, breathless.

"They found Rebecca's body," was all she said, but it was more than enough to take the attention off of Reid.


End file.
